Chapter 22

A heavy, jaw-stretching yawn escaped him.

It was his fifth since sunrise.

Toby, painstakingly adjusting Elwin’s collar, paced in a flurry of nervous energy. “My Lord! What in heaven’s name did you do last night to leave you yawning so?”

“I was… studying,” Elwin mumbled vaguely.

The excuse only deepened Toby’s horror. “Merciful heavens! You stayed up studying even last night? No matter how you cherish your books, you should have restrained yourself. Today of all days!”

“I was preparing for the tea party.”

The defense was only a half-truth.

Elwin had indeed met Mr. Leon in the library to learn the basic decorum—how to accept a teacup, navigate the table delicacies, and sustain a polite dialogue. However, their focus had soon wandered. For hours, they had passionately debated the impact of import tariffs on porcelain and tea leaves, tracing their volatile effects on merchant trade until the hand lamp sputtered and died from lack of oil. It had been an exhilarating intellectual exercise, but it possessed absolutely nothing to do with domestic tea etiquette.

Toby, far too sharp to be deceived, immediately recognized the deflection. Suppressing a sigh, he dipped a handkerchief into cool, fragrant rosewater and gently dabbed the faint shadows beneath his master’s eyes. “Do not dare look weary. Smile a little, my Lord! If Lord Dwight sits across from so lovely a gentleman, breathing in the scent of warm tea, his heart will surely soften. It is so wonderfully romantic! Now, sit still; we must finish dressing you.”

Strictly speaking, Elwin was not attending as an honored guest; he was practically invading hostile territory under a thin veneer of civility. Yet, because this marked Elwin’s formal debut into the local social circle, Toby’s excitement was boundless. He had long yearned to present his elegant young master to the world, letting everyone witness his quiet grace.

The only reason Elwin possessed a frock coat suitable for the occasion was due to Toby’s stubbornness four years prior. Around the age when most omegas made their formal entry into society, the servant had adamantly insisted they commission at least one set of proper outdoor wear, just in case. As he smoothed the fabric of the garment—which had languished in the dark of the wardrobe ever since—Toby chattered with a touch of melancholy.

“It does look somewhat dated, I suppose. The current fashion demands a higher waistline and much narrower lapels. But with our current funds, a new wardrobe is out of the question.”

“It is only four years old,” Elwin murmured, smoothing his cuff.

“You truly know nothing of these matters, my Lord! High fashion shifts in the blink of an eye.”

“Does it? Will I look terribly plain?”

“Plain?” Toby gasped, looking thoroughly insulted. “You look as exquisite as a porcelain doll! My only regret is that I cannot dress you in the finest modern silk. Even if you wrapped yourself in the coarse burlap they throw over carriage roofs, you would still outshine every soul there.”

Indeed, Elwin—who routinely favored the simplest attire—had been transformed with meticulous care. The ivory jacket complemented his pale complexion flawlessly, while a silk cravat of slate-blue mirrored the striking depth of his eyes, adding an understated elegance. Toby bound the crown of Elwin’s hair neatly with a slender velvet ribbon and stepped back, offering unabashed praise.

Without his spectacles, Elwin could only squint at his blurred reflection. But before he could focus, Toby startled him with a casual remark.

“By the way, I crossed paths with Mr. Leon earlier, and he inquired about the nature of your acquaintance with Mr. Frederick Finch. When I mentioned you had rejected his proposals twice, he looked rather astonished.”

Elwin spun around, his cheeks warming. “What? Toby, why on earth would you reveal that to him?”

“It is the simple truth, so why keep it a secret? Now, now, the carriage is waiting. We must make haste. You must show them all how splendid you look.”

Toby radiated pride, but Elwin felt as though he were being paraded to the gallows. The dizzying labyrinth of etiquette Mr. Leon had hurriedly diagrammed the previous night felt far too complex, and many of the rules seemed so entirely arbitrary that he felt destined to blunder.

When he stepped hesitantly into the garden, he found the other guests gathered near the carriages, dressed to the nines. Miss Selena, in particular, wore an elaborate day gown, and the moment she caught sight of Elwin from a distance, she waved enthusiastically.

“Sir Elwin! You have come! Hurry, join us—”

Her bright demeanor suddenly faltered as Elwin drew closer, her voice trailing off into a hushed murmur.

“Miss Selena? Is something amiss?”

“No… I was quite eager to boast of my new gown,” Selena murmured, her gaze lingering on him. “But somehow, all my enthusiasm has withered away.”

Beside her, Lord Dwight’s heavy, unreadable gaze also settled on Elwin.

Feeling self-conscious, and assuming the outdated silhouette of his jacket was indeed the cause, Elwin began to retreat from the persistent scrutiny. Before he could step back, however, Mr. Leon’s firm hand caught his arm from behind.

“Lord Dwight,” Mr. Leon said, smoothly breaking the silence. “It would be best to divide ourselves between the carriages as we did before, would it not?”

Lord Dwight offered a stiff nod, though his eyes remained fixed on Elwin. The moment permission was granted, Mr. Leon guided Elwin toward the Hetherton carriage and climbed in after him.

They sat facing each other, but the carriage cabin was thick with an awkward, heavy silence. Elwin noticed that Mr. Leon repeatedly stole quick glances, only to look away the moment Elwin tried to meet his eyes.

“Do I truly look so strange?”

Mr. Leon clicked his tongue, his voice laced with sudden irritation. “It appears the young master’s eyesight is indeed wretched.”

“Ah, yes. Toby insisted I leave my spectacles behind today,” Elwin replied innocently.

Mr. Leon merely sighed, looking utterly exasperated.

For the rest of the journey, they exchanged few words. As they drew closer to the Finch estate, Elwin’s mounting nerves left no room for idle conversation anyway.

At last, the gilded gates of the Finch manor loomed before them, glittering with ostentatious gold leaf. When Elwin stepped down from the carriage, he was greeted by the sight of an enormous swan-shaped topiary[3] sculpture dominating the lawn.

“My word, this garden is… remarkable!” Selena remarked, her voice carrying the polite awe of a well-behaved guest, though the display was undeniably gaudy. Like many families who had amassed rapid fortune, the Finches favored flash over substance, blending an aggressive desire to flaunt their wealth with an unrefined aesthetic. Had Elwin been wearing his spectacles, he would have winced at the sight of the delicate flowers forcibly transplanted and crammed around the base of the garish topiary swan.

“Ah, look who has graced us with their presence! The stars of the hour have arrived!”

As they surveyed the grounds, Mr. Frederick Finch, the host of the afternoon, marched toward them. He wore a loud purple waistcoat beneath a dove-gray coat heavy with ostentatious embroidery. Perhaps he believed a tight fit conveyed a youthful silhouette, or perhaps his tailor had taken outdated measurements, but the fabric clung to his frame so tightly it looked positively dreadful. To match his garden, he had adorned himself with a heavy gold chain and glittering jeweled pins; the sheer volume of metal was blinding even to Elwin’s blurred vision.

Mr. Frederick, preening like a gaudy peacock, offered stiff greetings to Lord Dwight, Miss Selena, and Mr. Leon before finally turning his attention to Elwin. The interaction unfolded exactly as anticipated. Elwin recalled his late-night conversation with Mr. Leon in the library.

— “At social events, the host greets guests and arranges seating in the order dictated by etiquette. Rank, closeness of relationship, and the nature of the gathering are the usual standards. The count’s household is the only noble family in this area, correct? In principle, the host should greet the young lord first and seat you in the place of honor.”

— “Mr. Frederick will naturally put Lord Dwight in the place of honor.”

— “If you are prepared for that, then I am relieved. And perhaps…”

— “My seat may be placed in the farthest corner.”

Mr. Leon, who had spoken with delicate caution to avoid wounding Elwin’s feelings, had looked at him with quiet surprise at his pragmatism.

— “There seems to be nothing more for you to learn.”

— “I may lack social experience, Mr. Leon, but I can still read the room.”

— “I see. This Mr. Frederick does seem…”

— “Yes. He dislikes me.”

Since Mr. Leon had witnessed the man’s crude behavior firsthand in their drawing room, Elwin spoke without reservation. However, not wishing Mr. Leon to assume the animosity was born of some fault of his own, Elwin offered some context.

— “As you said, the count’s household is the only noble family nearby, but we never host social events or accept invitations. The local gentry families have quite a few complaints about us.”

It was a simplified truth. In reality, the local high-society gossips whispered that the Hetherton family’s isolation stemmed from pure arrogance—that they “refused to associate with anyone without a title.” Rumors among those who had never even seen Elwin suggested that the eldest omega son of the house was a hideous creature, kept hidden away out of sheer shame.

— “I see. Still, Mr. Frederick’s resentment did appear rather more personal than what you described…”

Mr. Leon had narrowed his eyes with suspicion, but Elwin, too embarrassed to discuss the rejected marriage proposals, had quickly changed the subject. It was clear that this very conversation had prompted Mr. Leon’s morning inquiries to Toby.